The sound of a multitude of birds warbling and chirping in raucous racket penetrated the emptiness in which Zachary King was enveloped. His thinking was hazy, confused, and he couldn’t remember where he was or what he had been doing when he fell asleep. Cracking his eyelids, he was amazed to find he was lying on his side on the ground. He started to rise, and a sharp pain speared his chest. It jarred his recollection of the nightmare chase, and the grizzly that by rights should have eaten him.
To the east a golden crown bedecked the world. It was dawn. Zach had been unconscious for hours. Gingerly feeling his ribs, he slowly sat up and took a look around. The bear was nowhere in sight. Nor was the dun.
Their tracks told him why. From where he sat, Zach could clearly see that his horse had kept on going after he was knocked off and the bear had barreled after it, more interested in horseflesh than human flesh.
Zach slowly stood. He felt stiff and sore, but he wasn’t seriously hurt. Even better, his pistols were undamaged, and even better yet, neither was his rifle, which lay a few yards away. Brushing dust off it, he debated what to do.
The dun had fled to the north. Touch the Clouds’s village was to the northwest. Zach would lose valuable time if he set out after his mount and wind up miles farther from his goal. By the same token, it would take him ten times as long to reach the village on foot as on horseback, so if there was any chance, any chance at all, that the dun was still alive, it made sense for him to go after it.
Cradling his rifle, Zach traveled at a steady, mile-eating jog. Clods of earth churned by the dun’s flying hooves and a wide swath of trampled brush left by the massive bruin made tracking them ridiculously simple. He was heartened to see that the dun had stayed ahead of the bear. At least for a time.
A quarter of a mile farther on, Zach came to a steep slope the animals had descended. The grizzly had practically been nipping at the dun’s tail. Both lost their footing. Deep furrows marked where the horse slid the last seven or eight yards. As it tried to straighten, the bear overtook it and there had been a struggle. Splotches of dry blood brought an oath to Zach’s lips. He was encouraged, though, to find that the dun had made it to its feet and galloped off. Right behind it, however, had been the griz.
The sun cleared the horizon. As Zack jogged on, bright sunshine splashed over the woods, transforming them from a murky realm of shadows and latent menace to a wonderland of pristine beauty and tranquility. It was an illusion responsible for the deaths of many an unwary soul who let down their guard when they shouldn’t.
Zach knew better. When a loud snort sounded to the west, he immediately halted. The undergrowth crackled noisily, growing louder and louder, and soon immense shaggy shapes appeared. Five or six mountain buffalo, distinguished from their plains brethren by their shaggier, darker coats, passed within sixty feet of where he stood and never suspected he was there. It helped that the wind was wafting his scent away from the temperamental beasts. He waited a couple of minutes after the sounds faded to be sure they were gone, then moved on.
By the tracks, the dun had been hard-pressed at that point, and it had woven back and forth in a desperate bid to shake the meat-eater. Another hundred steps, and Zach broke into a broad grin. The bear had given up. It had stopped dead and let the dun go. Stamina triumphed over brute force. For although grizzlies could move with astounding swiftness when they were so inclined, they tired much sooner than a horse would. The bear they had encountered chased the dun a lot farther than most of its kind would, but at last, its endurance sapped, it had been left with nothing to eat but the dun’s dust.
From there the griz had wandered eastward while the dun fled on to the north. It hadn’t slowed until it covered another half a mile. Occasionally, scarlet drops speckled the vegetation.
Zach was worried that his mount had been grievously hurt and might need to be put down. He had an aversion to killing horses and would do all in his power to save it.
Mid-morning arrived, and Zach emerged from the woods into a rolling valley lush with grass. ‘Parks,’ the mountain men called them. A small herd of black-tailed does grazed unconcerned nearby, and across the valley, in the shade of encircling trees, lazed a quartet of tall elk. A solitary animal near the middle of the valley interested Zach more. He raced toward it, dreading what he would find.
The dun was caked with dust and matted with dry sweat. Its reins dangling, it was cropping the sweet grass, so hungry that it didn’t raise its head at his approach.
“Easy there, feller,” Zach said soothingly in order not to spook it. Slowly walking up, he snagged the reins. A few claw marks on its rear legs testified to the close shaves it had had, the worst a wicked gash on its flank. But none were life-threatening.
As careful as could be, Zach mounted and reined to the northwest. To the best of his recollection there was a creek not far off, and the dun’s wound needed to be cleaned. “Then it’s on to Touch the Clouds’s village,” he said aloud. He tried not to think of the time he had lost or dwell on the potential consequences.
“I’ll save you, Pa,” he vowed. “If it’s the last thing I do.”
The pressure of fingers on her arm dragged Winona King from a deep, dreamless sleep. She waded through a thick mental fog, her exhausted body reluctant to return to the land of the living. Someone urgently whispered her name and shook her, and she sat up in the chair and opened her eyes. Sunlight slanting through the window told her it was shortly past dawn. “I am awake,” she announced to stop the shaking. Her first thought was that her husband had taken a turn for the worse. “What is all the fuss?”
“We have visitors, Ma.”
Evelyn was by the chair, as rigid as a ramrod and as pale as a sheet. Louisa, over by the table, was also petrified but trying not to show it. The cause of their fright were four swarthy warriors in buckskins who stood just inside the open front door, their features as inscrutable as smooth clay. The style of their buckskins and moccasins, and the fashion in which they wore their braided hair, pegged them as Utes.
Winona shot erect, blurting, “How did they get inside?”
“They were waiting out front,” Lou answered. “When I opened the door to go feed the horses, they barged on in.”
Terror gripped Winona. At one time the Utes had claimed the valley as theirs, and for years waged a relentless campaign to kill her family or drive them out. Then her husband did the Utes a great favor at the request of an Ute chief, and in return the Ute leader gave his word that their family could go on living there unmolested.
Utes hadn’t visited the valley since. For four of them to invade her home did not bode well. Winona sidled toward the wall where her rifles were propped, but the tallest Ute divined her purpose and moved to block her.
“I asked them what they wanted,” Lou said, “but they don’t speak English or Shoshone.”
Winona tried sign language. “Question. What do you want?”
The tall Ute came toward her. He was of middle age, his hair graying at the temples. Not bothering to respond, he gazed over her shoulder at the bed where Nate lay.
“What do you want?” Winona repeated. She regretted placing her pistols on the counter the night before, and considered making a try for them.
Tucking a war club he held under his left arm, the tall Ute signed, “Question. Your man is sick?”
“A black bear mauled him,” Winona disclosed.
“I would look,” the Ute signed, and without awaiting permission, he strode past her.
Winona grabbed his arm to stop him, then froze when one of the other Utes trained a bow on her and started to draw back the string.
“Watch out, Ma!” Evelyn hollered.
Tugging his arm free, the tall Ute walked to the bed. His brow knitting, he placed a palm on Nate’s forehead and said something to his companions in the Ute tongue.
“Do you have any notion what they’re saying?” Louisa asked.
Winona shook her head. A knowledge of Ute wasn’t included in her linguistic storehouse. “I want you to leave,” she signed to the tall one. “My husband needs rest. He must not be disturbed.”
The tall Ute shocked her by signing, “We will take him with us.”
“You will do no such thing!” Winona was at her husband’s side in two bounds. Shoving the tall Ute away from the bed, she signed, “Try to hurt him and I will hunt all four of you down and count coup on your bodies.”
“We must take him,” the tall Ute insisted, and motioned for her to stand back. When she refused, he seized her by the shoulders to move her by force.
Deep inside Winona something snapped. Fury such as she had seldom felt exploded through her. Swatting his hands off, she grabbed for the knife at her hip. The Ute cried out to his friends and pounced. Before she could unsheathe her blade, her wrists were clamped in iron vises and she was shoved against the wall.
Louisa and another Ute began scuffling. Evelyn had made a dash for her rifle but never made it. A third warrior hooked an arm around her waist and held her up off the floor despite her enraged efforts to gouge and kick him.
Winona fought back as savagely as a bobcat protecting her brood. She had no idea what the Utes were up to, but given that her husband had slain more than a few Ute warriors before the truce, she dreaded the worst. For all she knew, they were going to drag him back to their village and torture him. She would give her life before she let that happen.
Shifting on the ball of her foot, Winona arced a knee at the tall Ute’s groin, but he blocked the blow with his forearm and retaliated by slamming her against the wall.
Evelyn, meanwhile, had twisted and was clawing at her captor’s eyes. She missed and raked his cheek. To stop her from doing it again, he enfolded her in his other arm, pinning both of hers. She could still move her legs, though, and move them she did, but the majority of her kicks glanced off his legs, doing no real harm.
Louisa fared little better. She broke her assailant’s grip and heaved up off the floor, only to be tackled from behind by the fourth Ute, a burly warrior who outweighed her by a good hundred and fifty pounds. She was pancaked against the floorboards with the burly Ute straddling her back.
Only Winona was left to resist. Again she clutched at her knife and succeeded in clearing it, but lost her hold the very next moment when it was smashed from her grasp. A callused hand gripped her by the hair and snapped her head back. Eyes as dark as her own bored into hers, and the tall warrior hiked his war club.
Winona still had plenty of fight left. Balling her right fist, she punched the tall warrior flush on the mouth. It caught him off guard; Indians rarely resorted to their fists. She landed a second punch, rocking him on his heels. Taking advantage, she slid her right foot behind his and drove her shoulder against his chest.
The tall Ute stumbled backward. Onto the bed. And onto Nate. Getting a hand under him, he raised his war club.
Winona lunged. Grabbing the warrior’s left foot, she pulled with all her might. She only intended to slide him off Nate, but she yanked him clean off the bed, toppling him onto his hands and knees.
Spying her knife by the front bedpost, Winona dived for it, but the tall Ute caught her and flung her against the chair. It went down with her on top. She heard her daughter yell and felt a searing pain above her left ear. The warrior had struck her a glancing blow on the head with his war club. It didn’t knock her out, but it did render her incapable of resisting as he drew his knife and cut several long strips from the sheet she had covered Nate with. The Ute used one strip to bind her wrists behind her back. The other strips were used to tie Evelyn and Lou.
“We’re goners, Ma,” Evelyn said forlornly. “They’re fixing to kill Pa, I bet, and keep us prisoners the rest of our born days.”
Lou sat up, scowling. “I will never let another man lay a hand on me!” she cried. “Only Zach has that right!”
Winona said nothing. She blamed herself for their plight.
If she had not let herself become so worn down, if she had been more vigilant, if she hadn’t drifted off after spying that face in the window—if, if, if. Recriminations were pointless but in this case justified. She had let her loved ones down, and now her mate might pay the ultimate price for her carelessness.
The Utes were conferring. One rubbed the marks left by Evelyn’s nail on his cheek. Another limped slightly. The tall warrior had a bloody lower lip. Abruptly, an argument ensued. Whatever it was about, the tall warrior seemed to get the best of the dispute, and soon he and another warrior moved to the head of the bed and slid their hands under Nate’s shoulders.
Winona racked her brain for a means of stopping them. She was between the upended chair and the bed. She could try to trip them as they went by, but they might drop Nate.
“What do we do, Ma?” Evelyn cried. “What do we do?”
The warrior with the limp poked the tip of his lance into Winona’s side. Not deep enough to draw blood, but hard enough to convince her to stand when he gestured for her to do so.
To Winona’s dismay, the sheet covering Nate slid off. She had removed his clothes in a bid to cool his fevered body, and now he was exposed to her daughter and daughter-in-law. It was most unseemly. Shoshones were reserved where their bodies were concerned, and public nudity was frowned on. Even when couples made love, they did so partially clothed or with a blanket over them.
The tall Ute noticed her reaction and halted. He reached for the sheet, then spotted Nate’s buckskin pants neatly folded on top of the chest of drawers. Unfolding them, he crouched and slid Nate’s feet into one leg and then the other.
“Why did he go to the bother of doing that if all they aim to do is kill Pa?” Evelyn wondered.
Winona didn’t know, and the uncertainty compounded her fears. The warrior holding the spear jabbed her again, indicating she should follow the pair bearing Nate. She was all too happy to accommodate them, as she had no intention of letting her husband out of her sight. Evelyn and Lou came behind her. Last was the fourth Ute, his bow elevated for quick use.
Four mounts waited at the tree line, but the Utes bent their steps toward the trail to the lake instead.
“What are these coyotes up to?” Lou said. “I thought they would take us to their village. I don’t like this, not one bit.” Stopping, she set herself. “And I’ll be damned if I’m taking another step.”
The fourth Ute had other ideas. Using the flat of his hand, he propelled her forward and wagged his bow to accent his point.
At the lakeshore the Utes halted. A short exchange resulted in two of the warriors forcing Winona, Evelyn, and Lou to sit down. Winona couldn’t take her eyes off her mate. In his condition it wouldn’t take much to smother the weak spark of life that remained.
To Winona’s utter horror, the Utes must have had the same thought. For the next moment, without any forewarning, the tall Ute and one other carried Nate into the lake and lowered him into the cold water.
They were drowning him!
Touch the Clouds’s superb physique had always served him well. As the huge boulder obliterated half the sky, he slapped his legs against the sorrel and raced forward. At the same time, he bellowed to Drags the Rope and the others. The narrow defile pealed to rumbling thunder caused by the boulder bouncing off the wall. Frantic shouts and panicked whinnies added to the din.
A shadow enveloped Touch the Clouds and his warhorse. Doom was upon them. He expected to be crushed to a pulp, and he tensed for the imminent impact. Drags the Rope called out to him, but the yell was eclipsed by a tremendous, nigh-deafening crash. The walls shook and the ground quaked, and a billowing, roiling cloud rose to fill the gap with choking dust.
Touch the Clouds didn’t rein up until he reached the next bend. He turned to look back, but he could barely see his hand at arm’s length, so thick was the dust cloud. Out of it a silhouette took substance.
Drags the Rope reined up, coughing and sputtering. His hair, his face, his clothes were caked with dust.
“You made it safely too!” Touch the Clouds’s relief was boundless. To lose his best friend would sadden him beyond measure, a sorrow he would endure for the rest of his life.
“The boulder landed right behind me,” Drags the Rope said between coughs. “I heard a scream.”
“We must check on the others.” Touch the Clouds tried to dismount, but there wasn’t enough room. He could barely squeeze a leg between the rock wall and his sorrel. “We need to find a place where we can climb down,” he said, and goaded his horse around the bend. As luck would have it, the defile widened slightly, enough to permit them to dismount. On foot, the two of them hastened back.
The cloud still hung in the air, thick with fine particles. Touch the Clouds covered his mouth with one hand and cautiously advanced. He couldn’t see the rim, couldn’t see the walls close beside him. His right foot bumped a fist-size fragment of rock, the first of many. Carefully stepping over them, he groped for the boulder.
The tip of his left foot struck an object that felt different from the debris, something soft and yielding. Crouching, Touch the Clouds ran his hand over it and was appalled to discover it was the head of a horse twisted at an unnatural angle. His questing fingers roved along the animal’s blood-drenched neck, which was nearly as flat as a leaf, and made contact with the boulder.
Touch the Clouds bowed his head in sorrow. The rest of the horse, and whoever had been riding it, were underneath.
Drags the Rope edged next to him. “This must be Shoulder Blade. He was next behind me.”
The deformed warrior had been another close friend. Swallowing hard, Touch the Clouds raised his head to shout, but someone on the other side of the boulder beat him to it.
“Touch the Clouds! Drags the Rope! Can you hear me? This is Six Feathers!”
“We are alive and unhurt!” Touch the Clouds responded. “But we cannot say the same of Shoulder Blade!”
“We know! He and Buffalo Hump were crushed. Buffalo Hump’s legs are sticking out on this side! They just stopped twitching!”
“Everyone else is all right? No other horses were hurt?”
“Not a scratch. But we cannot go on. We must back our horses out and find a way around.”
“No!” Touch the Clouds straightened. “Get out quickly in case more boulders fall, and wait for us.” He would not risk losing more warriors. And he could not stop thinking about the shadow that flitted around the rim moments before the boulder came tumbling down.
“We will do as you say,” Six Feathers answered.
“Hurry!” Touch the Clouds heeded his own advice. Spinning, he grabbed Drags the Rope by the elbow and hustled toward the bend. The rim was still obscured by the cloud, but it wouldn’t be for long.
“Do you hear that?” Drags the Rope suddenly asked. From above drifted a grating noise, as of stone scraping on stone. “Run!” Touch the Clouds urged, and did so, just as another rumbling roar reverberated in the defile. Another boulder was falling! Or, more accurately, had been pushed! Touch the Clouds looked up, but he couldn’t tell whether it was behind them, in front of them, or directly above them. He ran faster. The bend couldn’t be far, and once they were around it they would be safe.
The rumbling swelled until it was like the rumbling a great herd of buffalo made when they stampeded. At its crescendo came an earth-shaking crash louder than the first. The earth under Touch the Clouds’s moccasins buckled and he was pitched onto his stomach. A gust of wind fanned the back of his neck, and then the ravine grew as dark as twilight. A second, denser cloud of dust had been added to the first.
Touch the Clouds began to rise. Inadvertently, he inhaled, and promptly regretted it. It felt as if he had sucked a handful of sand into his mouth. Dust layered his tongue, his throat. An irresistible impulse to gag doubled him over. He coughed uncontrollably. Thrusting a hand over his mouth, he breathed shallow to avoid a repeat of his mistake. Gradually, he recovered enough to stand and go on.
Only now it was dark as pitch. Touch The Clouds blinked to clear his eyes of stinging particles, but it didn’t help. Holding his right arm across his forehead to shield them, he called out, “Drags the Rope?” From close ahead came a muffled response. He advanced by sliding each foot a knife’s length at a time. “Where are you?”
“Here.”
Touch the Clouds bent and groped with both hands. Fingers clutched his. Squatting, he ran his left hand along his friend’s arm. “Are you hurt?”
“I tripped and struck my head on the wall. I feel weak. And dizzy.”
“Do not move.” Touch the Clouds slid his hand up across Drags the Rope’s cheek, forehead, and hair. There was a damp spot, but the flow of blood appeared to have stopped. “We must get you out.” Touch the Clouds couldn’t tell more until they were in sunlight. “Lean on me. We will walk sideways, and I will bear your weight.”
Drags the Rope groaned as he was assisted to his feet. “The boulder almost crushed us like the other did Shoulder Blade.”
Cold fury bubbled in Touch the Clouds at the thought of how close they had come to a grisly end. Holding his free arm in front of him, he steered them around the bend to where they had left the horses. Both animals were gone.
Drags the Rope was slumped against him. “They were scared and ran off,” he commented. “Let us hope they do not run all the way back to our village.”
“No more talking until we are out,” Touch the Clouds whispered. It had occurred to him that whoever was rolling boulders down on them might hear them and try again. As cautiously as if they were treading barefoot on shards of broken glass, they went on. The dust cloud slowly thinned and breathing became easier. Once past another bend, the ravine widened considerably. Visibility improved. Touch the Clouds scanned the high ramparts, but no more shadows appeared.
Soon the ravine ended. An arrow’s flight away were their horses. Touch the Clouds sat his friend on a small boulder and examined the wound. There was a gash as long as his thumb and half as wide above one ear. “You will mend and be your old self,” he predicted.
“Already I feel much better,” Drags the Rope said. “We can look for the Crow camp whenever you want.”
“Rest awhile. I have something else to do first.” Touch the Clouds brought their horses over, mounted the sorrel, and rode to a bare slope that brought him to the top of the ravine. As he climbed he notched an arrow to his bow. He hoped those responsible were still there. But he should have known better.
Dozens of footprints marked the spot. A pair of long poles, used to lever the boulders, had been left behind.
Touch the Clouds swung down. The tracks were moccasin prints. Since no two tribes fashioned their footwear exactly alike, a competent tracker could always tell them apart.
“Crows,” Touch the Clouds said, and his giant body shook with rage.
It was time to go to war.